


One Man's War

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gold Whump, Implied/Referenced Suicide, POV Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Parent Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Protective Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22356454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Pan's Curse is coming. Rumplestiltskin dies, but a willing sacrifice cannot be held by the Vault. Battle is joined, between the Dark One and Spinner. A battle of good and evil, love and hate. Neal watches, and thinks about the man he calls father.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 36





	One Man's War

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters belong to the creator of Once Upon a Time

**One Man's War**

He thinks they’re doomed. The Curse is coming, they’re racing the clock, and Pan is there. How he escaped the magic suppressing cuff is unknown, and it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he freezes them in place. He’s going to kill them, and then the Curse is going to happen, and there’s not going to even be a Savior. They’ll just be more forgotten bodies in Pan’s wake.

And then his Papa shows up. Rumplestiltskin. Rumpled and dirty and wearing the magic suppressing cuff (Pan must have tricked him). A savage smile on his face as he faces Pan. His father.

He stands there, speaking words of love and apology with a smile on his face, and that’s terrifying. Not just what he says, but what he means.

_ ‘I used the Curse to find you Bae, to tell you I made a mistake, to give you a chance at happiness. And it’s possible. But not with me. And I love you Belle. You made me stronger.’ _

His Papa is saying goodbye again, and he’d give anything to stop it. 

Pan sneers. Rumplestiltskin sneers right back.  _ ‘You may have lost your Shadow, but so have I.’ _ One hand extends upward in command and a Shadow, not Pan’s, flies down and deposits a gleaming black and silver blade into Rumplestiltskin’s hand. 

Huh. He thought his dad was lying when he said he gave his blade to the Shadow to hide. Now he feels bad, since Rumplestiltskin was telling the truth.

And then he feels a thousand times worse, guilt turning to horror as Rumplestiltskin lunges at Pan, wraps him in a tight embrace with more strength than that slender frame should have.  _ ‘...and now...I’m...ready!’ _

And his father drives the dagger into Pan’s back, buries it up to the hilt.

If he could move, he’d be screaming, crying, darting forward. He’d be rushing to cradle his father in his arms. Because he knows. Not just from Rumplestiltskin’s words, but because he knows the knife is longer than Pan is wide. Knows that, even though he can’t see it, part of that vicious blade is buried in his father’s chest. In his heart.

That heart he’s doubted and scorned and considered black as night, but which still loves him enough to do this. The heart that so many once called a coward’s, brave enough to make this sacrifice.

Pan disappears into smoke, revealing a man. A man with the family brown eyes and wild hair. His grandfather, Malcolm.

_ ‘We can still start over. We can still have a happy ending.’ _ Malcolm, Pan, still trying to live.

His heart breaks when his father answers.  _ ‘Ah, but I’m a villain, Papa. And villains don’t get happy endings.’ _

Oh god, he wants so much to prove his father wrong. So much. And he can’t even move. Can’t even cry, can’t even say the words ‘Papa’ or ‘Rumplestiltskin’. Can’t even say ‘I love you’.

Then Rumplestiltskin twists the blade, twists the dagger, an old fighter’s trick to shred the heart and lungs. Who knows where he learned it. Light bursts forth from the blade. Over his father’s shoulders, Rumplestiltskin gives them...such a look. There’s so much love there. It’s like they’re back in the shop, when he was dying from Hook’s blade instead of his own. So full of love and tenderness that it’s like a punch to the gut.

He wants to take his Papa’s hand like he did back then, cradle his hands and hold him in his arms. And he still can’t move. Pan’s spell is too strong.

And then Rumplestiltskin looks away. Looks away and tenderly strokes the hair of the man pinned to his chest. And there’s love and forgiveness in those eyes.

His father is forgiving the man who abandoned and betrayed him. The man who tormented and trapped him. Loving him, even as they both die. He wishes he could do the same. He wants to take back every rebuttal, every moment of distrust and harsh words, and replace them all with a mirror of the look he sees in his father’s eyes right at this final moment.

And then the light flares, and they’re both gone. Pan’s spell vanishes.

They’re racing the clock. The Curse is coming and if they don’t move fast, they’ll all be trapped. But he can’t move, can’t look away from the spot where his Papa died to save him. Died because he loved him. Belle’s crying beside him, and he wishes he were brave enough to break down the same way.

And then light flares again. But this is no pure golden radiance. This is something...other. Silver fire, if silver fire could be tarnished.

“What the...” And the rest of his sentence dies as Rumplestiltskin reappears.

With no Pan in the way, the dagger is embedded deep in his father’s chest. Both hands grasp the hilt. He doesn’t seem to be all there. For a single, frozen moment, he stands, braced and still, while they all watch.

He just saw his father die, dagger in his heart. He doesn’t understand what he’s seeing now.

Then Rumplestiltskin arches back. His left hand clenches on the dagger, ripping it across his chest before it exits in a waterfall of crimson. Both hands are flung wide, outstretched like a plea. Or an execution.

Around the left hand, darkness flows, rippling black like living oil, like smoke made liquid. And as it twines up the arm, it leaves behind it golden skin and blackened nails. The hand of the imp. The Dark One.

Around the right hand, light flows, fog made solid and drenched in starlight. Luminous and brilliant, like Emma’s magic. Pure, in some way. As it spins it’s way up, it leaves behind tanned skin, and a hand that he knows. No one else would, but it’s a hand that’s been part of his nightmares and dreams for 300 years.

The hand of a spinner. Calluses from working the wheel, grooves from the thread. The rough palm that clasped a staff to walk, and the fingers marred with the scars of pinpricks from sewing by poor light, or no light at all. Nails that aren’t black, but dirty from keeping a garden and tending sheep. Wrist stained with soot from stoking a fire.

Dark Magic and Light. And in between, Rumplestiltskin, bathed in his own heart’s blood, his life force staining his shirt and trousers crimson.

“What the hell?” That's Emma.

“I have no idea.” Regina.

He knows. Or he thinks he does. This is a war for his father’s soul.

This is the war Rumplestiltskin has been fighting for 300 years, inside his own head, made visible, made real, in the magic-charged air of Storybrooke. He doesn’t know how and he doesn’t know why, he just knows what it is.

It looks so painful. Was it always this painful for his father?

Did his father endure 300 years of agony for him? Tortured between darkness and light? He always assumed his father gave in to the Darkness when he let him go. Was it really only a battle that his father lost? A mistake?

There’s a crowd gathering. Murmurs fill the air. Suspicious murmurs. Imprecations. Warnings. Threats. And suddenly, he can’t take it. He whips around. “Shut up. You don’t know him.”

And they don’t. How could they? They might know the Dark One, imp and deal-maker. But they don’t, they can’t, know the Spinner.

They don’t know about the man who starved so his son might sleep with a full belly. A man who spun thread and stitched clothes until his fingers cramped and bled, that his son might be warm on a winter’s night. A man who trekked over hills and broken roads on a crippled ankle, that he might make a few coppers to see them through.

They don’t know the man who sang lullabies on stormy nights, or told stories.

They don’t know the man who knelt in the mud and kissed a cruel soldier’s boot, simply to protect his son from the battlefield for one more day. Humiliated and broken and kicked aside like a dog, left with nothing, not even hope. Just love and desperation.

They don’t know the man who walking into a burning building in search of a long shot. Or took a curse to save his child, even if he never meant to.

They don’t know the man who ended the Ogre Wars in the Frontlands.

The man who loved him. Enough to move Heaven and Earth, apparently, and endure for 300 years, never losing his humanity in spite of being possessed by the blackest of curses.

They don’t know his father, Henry’s grandfather, who knew Henry would be his destroyer and loved him anyway. Fought Pan for him. Fought Pan for all of them.

No, these people might know the Dark One, but they don’t know Rumplestiltskin.

Except Belle, who loved him even when he was a beast, when he was losing to the Darkness, and managed to drag him back to himself.

Except Henry, with his Book and his shining eyes that watch with love and hope and fear.

And him. He knows the Spinner. Knows and loves him, now more than ever.

Rumplestiltskin screams, raw and growling, the sound breaking between the Spinner’s voice and the Dark One’s. His hands shake, then slam together in front of him in an explosion of light and darkness.

Power flares. Magic swirls around, blood as well. It whips around, obscuring Rumplestiltskin’s body, then begins to change.

Darkness swirls to one side. Light to the other. Both powers billow and flare, then solidify.

On one side, the imp. The Dark One. Gold-green skin, reptilian eyes, wild hair. Dark black robes cloaking his frames. Blackened teeth bared in an ugly snarl.

On the other side, the Spinner. Rumplestiltskin. Tanned skin. Grey-streaked hair and brown eyes. Jaw tensed in grim determination. He wears simple peasant clothing, a loose tunic and breeches.

It’s a lot like the outfit his father wore the last time he was just Rumplestiltskin.

Both figures are locked together, like wrestlers. Hands clenching. One set of hands clenches around the dagger. The other set surrounds a red, glowing object.

“Is that his heart?” Belle’s horrified whisper rings over the suddenly silent watchers.

“I think it is.” Regina sounds...surprised.

He isn’t.

The Dark One snarls. “Do you really think you can stop me, dearie?”

“Worked so far, hasn’t it?” Rumplestiltskin’s words are grim.

“You can’t keep me from your heart forever.”

“Oh, I don’t need to worry about that.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice is strained. “See, I gave my heart to someone long before I met you.”

For a moment he thinks Belle. But no, they only met a couple years before the Dark Curse was cast. Then he thinks his mother...but it can’t be. Milah made Rumplestiltskin’s life hell. And she abandoned them, just because she wanted adventure. As much as he might hate the fact that his dad killed his mom, he sort of understands.

And then he wants to kick himself, because he knows who his father refers to. Of course he does. There’s one person in the universe that Rumplestiltskin would give up everything for.

He steps forward, into that spiral of sparking, oozing magic. Reaches out with tentative hands and wraps his palms around Rumplestiltskin’s heart. “I got you, Papa.” He ignores the muttering he hears. Yeah, Rumplestiltskin is his dad, and right now he couldn’t be prouder.

Rumplestiltskin twists his wrist and breaks his grip and the Dark One’s in one smooth move, locking their hands together and leaving the heart in his.

He steps back, cradling his father’s heart. It should feel nasty, he thinks. It should look black and withered and cold. It’s the heart of the Dark One.

But it’s glowing red and warm in his hand. Cradled in his palms, it beats, solid and strong, and yet so fragile. He could crush it, he could break it, he could destroy Rumplestiltskin and the Dark One here and now.

But he’s been entrusted with something so precious. A father’s heart. His father’s heart. And he could no more break that again than he could sprout wings and become a fairy.

Spinner and Dark One, locked together in combat. It’s a more equal contest than he thought it could possibly be, and from the mutters he hears behind him, he’s not the only one surprised by Rumplestiltskin’s strength.

The Dark One laughs, low and nasty. “Even if you defeat me, you’re just gonna be cursed again. You can’t escape me. Just because you broke the Vault once, doesn’t mean you’re gonna be so lucky again, little man.”

“Oh, I know that.” Rumplestiltskin smiles, and it’s that grim smile, love and light and darkness in it. “I know that. But I never said I wanted to escape, now did I?”

And he knows what his father’s going to do, a moment before he does it. Because he knows that smile and those words. And this time he does choke on a cry and lunge forward. But not fast enough.

Rumplestiltskin breaks the grip of their empty hands and spins himself around, into an awful parody of an embrace. Wraps the Dark One’s arm around him. And with both hands, he slams the dagger into himself, and through.

Newly restored and once again killing himself. And he knows what his father intends. Kill himself, the Dark One loses a host, the curse loses it’s grip on the world. Maybe it gets destroyed forever. Maybe the world is rid of darkness with his passing. Even if it doesn't, the curse will probably be sealed into the Dagger.

Only this time, he’s not trapped in place. So he can race forward and pull his father close, the hand with the heart between them. The heart beats weakly, and he holds on tight. “Stay with me Papa.” He doesn't know if Rumplestiltskin can truly die with his heart apart from his body like this, but it doesn't matter. He can still feel pain, and he wouldn't put it past his father to find another way.

“It’s all right, Bae. It’s all right. You don’t have to...” The words are full of pain, but Rumplestiltskin’s eyes are full of love.

“Yeah I do. Look, Papa...I don’t care any more. Dark One, Spinner, Rumplestiltskin, Gold...I don’t care. Just...stay with me.”

How could he be angry, when he’s looking at his father, seeing him clearly for the first time in centuries. This man, always trapped between darkness and light. Always at war with himself. Always fighting. Sometimes losing, sometimes falling, making mistakes. But always loving. Loving to the end, with a ferocity that even three centuries of being subject to the darkest curse in magic couldn’t end.

He speaks the words that Rumplestiltskin has spoken so many times, that he hasn’t ever said back, at least not since they were reunited. “I love you Papa.”

“And I you. Bae...it’s better this way...”

“No. It’s not.” It’s not. It’s not better, watching his father die for him. “It’s not better Papa.”

He pulls his father closer, careful of the heart that he still holds. “Come on Papa. Live. For me. I’ll help you bear the price, okay? Just...whatever you need to do...live. For me. For Belle. For Henry.”

“How sweet. But the only thing...that’s gonna save him...is me.” The Dark One sneers from where he stands, pinned by the length of the dagger and Rumplestiltskin's grip.

“I don’t believe that any more. My Papa’s stronger than you.” He refused to believe that for a long time. He believes it now. Yes, his father once made a mistake and let him go. But he fought for him, and he’s seen from Pan what his father could have been if he hadn’t loved so much.

He takes a breath, knowing what he’s about to do could have serious consequences, then rips the dagger free of his father’s body. Shoves the heart back in before the wound can close. “Come on Papa. You got this.”

“You can do this Rumple.” That’s Belle. He doesn’t know when she joined them, but he’s glad she did.

Light and Dark at war. Rumplestiltskin in the middle. Dark eyes raise, and he can see something in his father’s eyes. Some flash of knowledge.

The Rumplestiltskin wrenches away, pushes him away and throws himself backward into the center of the vortex of dark and light. Stands alone in the midst of the maelstrom, wild magic tearing at him, blood turning his shirt red as a lover’s rose. The Dark One still behind him, face a twisted mask of rage. He smiles, sweet and sad and strong. “Bae...tell me what you want son.”

“I want you to live. With us. Here, Enchanted Forest, doesn’t matter. Even if we have to be under Pan’s curse.”

Rumplestiltskin turns to look at the curse cloud. “No. I won’t let that happen.”

“You can stop it?” Regina’s voice is sharp.

“I don’t know. But I’m gonna try.” He looks back over his shoulder. “For my boy. I’d do anything for him.”

And he knows it’s true. In this moment, his father will do whatever he asks of him. Die. Live. Burn himself to ashes, walk into prison, break the Dark One’s dagger...anything he asks.

Rumplestiltskin whips around to face the oncoming curse. Still surrounded by the whirlwind of power, of darkness and light. He looks so fragile and yet so strong. A Spinner in the storm.

He’s still bleeding, the wound on his chest staining the ground with a growing puddle of red.

One hand whips the dagger high. “I don’t think so...Papa. That curse wasn’t meant for you.”

His expression turns grim. “Funny thing...I wrote this curse. Made it. Took me three centuries. And if there’s one thing my Papa taught me...what you can make, you can break.”

He holds out a hand. “Regina...The scroll please.”

She wastes no time handing it over. It flares as it passes through the magic, and it smolders as it lands in his outstretched hand. It must burn, but if it does, he gives no sign.

“Help me stop it.” The words a command, given by the one who holds the dagger to the entity bound to the blade.

“That’s gonna cost you.” The words are snarled out, even as the imp’s hand joins his father’s on the dagger’s hilt.

“I don’t care about that.” He breathes the words. “For my son, I’ll pay any price.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Imp and man twist their hands together, magic swirling about them. Fire ignites in the scroll. Fire ignites in the cursed cloud. Power winds about the blade and the two figures who hold it, burning, cutting, ice cold darkness and fiery light.

Power flares in a brilliant shock-wave of force. He’s knocked off his feet, like the rest of Storybrooke, but he rolls to his side so he can continue to watch his father.

Light and darkness swirls together and flares, then slams into the curse. He’s reminded of a book he read about matter and anti-matter, and the energy produced when they combined. This is like that, he thinks.

The scroll burns to ash, and the power of the curse burns with it. Burns until there’s nothing left. Nothing left but Rumplestiltskin and the Dark One.

The Dark One leans into his father’s shoulder. “You called on me for help. Now you’re never gonna be rid of me.”

“I know. And I’ll never stop fighting you, either.”

“You say that now, dearie. But darkness will win in the end.” The words are sneered.

The Dark One whirls and vanishes into the maelstrom of magic that still spins about his father. Then Light and Dark slam into Rumplestiltskin, and he reels with a grunt of pain. Then falls to his knees, gasping as light mends the wound in his chest, and darkness carves his name into the dagger blade.

The last of the tornado of power flows into his father. Rumplestiltskin doubles over in pain, then falls, collapsing to the dirty street.

It’s only then that he realizes the storm of magic has all but destroyed his father’s clothing. There’s nothing left of his shirt but random shreds, he’s barefoot and his trousers are more like shorts now.

He darts forward, shrugging out of his coat as he does. He wraps the heavy fabric around his father’s body, carefully folding the dagger to his father’s side. He won’t let anyone take it. Not even himself.

He turns to see the shocked stares of the townspeople. Shocked, disbelieving. Judging, even without knowing what they’ve just seen. He’s glad he covered his father up. These people are like the villagers they once knew. They don’t deserve to see him this way.

Then Henry steps up. Brave Henry, with the Heart of the Truest Believer. “How can we help him?”

“He needs rest, probably.”

“His shop’s not far.” Henry bounces on his toes. “We could take him there.”

“Yeah.”

“Here. Let me help.” David steps forward. It’s clear he’s reluctant. But it’s also clear he’s willing. And he’s big enough to carry Rumplestiltskin that distance.

“Sure. Not gonna say no to a little help.” He buttons the coat around his papa, then lets the prince lift his father. He’s watching like a hawk. For David to try and take the dagger, for the dagger to fall. He and Belle and Henry follow hard on the prince’s heels as David walks carefully to the shop. Belle opens the door, and he leads David inside, to the bed in the back.

David’s careful enough as he lays Rumplestiltskin down, but his face is troubled. “What...was that?”

“I think we’d all like to know.” Regina. Because of course everyone followed them. Well, Regina and Emma and Hook and Snow White, at least.

He thinks about lying. Then he decides that no, his pop deserves to have someone stand up for him, tell his side of things. And he could stand to show a little faith in his dad.

“That? Out there in the street?” he gestures. “Well, aside from stopping Pan’s curse, which I have no idea how the hell he did it, that was...that was a war.”

“A war?” Emma blinks.

“Yeah. A war.” He swipes a hand over his face and looks back at his father. “My dad, you know...he took the dagger and the Curse of the Dark One for me. To keep me from havin' to go to war against the ogres when I was fourteen.”

There’s a collective wince. “Fourteen?” Even Emma seems to get how bad it would be for teenagers to face ogres.

“Yep. War of the Frontlands. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

“Of course. It spanned several years, and then all the ogres disappeared.” Snow White frowns.

“That’s what he did. After he became the Dark One, he killed all the ogres and brought all the kids home. All the ones that got conscripted, like I was gonna be. And ever since then...it’s been like this...this fight inside his head, you know? My Papa versus the Dark One.” He strokes a hand over his father’s brow. It’s hot, as if he’s burning from within, or suffering a fever.

He never did ask what happened to his Papa after he took the curse. There were several hours where his father was missing, between the time he went to meet the Dark One and the time he came back as the Dark One.

What is the transition to being Cursed like? He’s never asked. He probably should have. Sure, he was a terrified kid before, but he should have asked.

“Fascinating. However, I’m more curious about how, exactly, he’s here.” Regina frowns. “He’s always said magic can’t bring back the dead.”

“And that all magic has a price.” That’s Hook.

“Yeah. I don’t know what happened either. Far as I know, this hasn’t ever happened before.”

“That’s because it hasn’t.” Rumplestiltskin blinks open tired eyes and moves to sit up. He frowns at the coat that’s trapping his arms.

He steps in front of his papa, shielding him from view, then helps him get his arms into the sleeves so he can sit up properly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine son.” And that’s a bold-faced lie if ever there was one. He should know. He’s heard his father say ‘I’m fine’ in that tone way too many times to ever believe it.

Still, this time he’s probably a bit justified, so he decides to let it go and ask again later, when they don’t have an audience.

“What happened out there?” Regina cuts in as soon as Rumplestiltskin sits up, never mind how pale he is, or how tired he looks. Or the fact that he was dead an hour ago.

“Something I didn’t plan for.” Rumplestiltskin sighs, resigned to the questions. “I expected to die and be sent...wherever Dark Ones go. The Vault, as it’s rumored to be.”

“Is the Vault not real, or not reachable from here or something?”

“Oh no, it’s real. And it can be reached, even from here.” Pained shadows cross his father’s eyes. “But...magic has rules. And there’s never been a Dark One who sacrificed himself before. I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, well, Dark Ones don’t love.” He mutters the words. “Except you, I guess.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes soften and warm as they meet his own. “Yeah.”

Hands clasp together, warm and strong. And it’s his father’s hand he holds, the Spinner’s hand.

Rumplestiltskin looks at the assembled group. “I gave my life, to save my son. And my grandson, and my True Love. The curse of the Dark One is supposed to pass to the one who kills the Dark One but, dying by my own hand...changed the outcome.” He shrugs. “For whatever reason, almost as soon as I fell into the Vault, I was sent back. Thrown out, if you will. I certainly didn’t plan for it...but I can’t say I’m sorry it happened either.”

“Yeah, and what about the price?” Hook gives his father a cold look. “You’re always saying magic has a price, yeah?”

“That’s true.” Regina arches an eyebrow at Rumplestiltskin. “So what price does this restoration of yours have? And what about destroying the Curse?”

“Same price.” Rumplestiltskin winces. “I gave up...my only chance at freedom. From the Curse of the Dark One.” He touches his chest, where a wound was carved less than an hour ago.

He keeps his mouth shut. He doubts the price was that simple, but his father has the right to keep the rest of it to himself if he wants. But he thinks about the war and the pain his father suffered, and he thinks he'll remind the others of that if they start questioning.

“You’ll forgive me if that doesn’t seem like much of a price.” David’s the one to mutter those words.

“How can you say that?” Belle bristles like an angry cat before he can get the words out. “You saw what he did out there. You saw all that power. You saw him fighting, and how badly wounded he was. How can you say that’s not much of a price?”

His pop looks grateful for her intercession, but also resigned. Like he knows these people are going to hate him and scorn him no matter what. And that’s enough to get him to his feet, to make him face David. “You know, I read Henry’s book.”

David blinks. He brushes a little grit out of his eyes and keeps talking. “Read your story. Peasant boy that got turned into a Prince. Met your True Love. Thing is...why’d you give up being a Prince? I mean, you had it all. Money, power, respect...”

“That life was a prison.” David scowls.

“Yeah? I wonder how many people, out there...” He gestures to Storybrooke proper. “...would agree with you. How many of them would think it was so bad. Maybe it was a prison to you, but I bet there’s plenty of them that would love to have been in your shoes. Money, pretty wife, kingdom to run. But you – you gave it up for the life of a fugitive. On the run, fighting a war. Outlaw for how long? And even when you finally get settled, there’s the curse and all. So I've got to wonder…was it really worth all that shit you went through?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry, where are you going with this?” Snow White steps up beside her husband, fierce and angry.

“Just this.” He rubs his eyebrow again, wishing he’d had a few more hours of sleep. Like, a week’s worth. “It was worth it to you, goin’ through all that. Imagine what you’d be willing to do, if you weren’t just escaping a prison, but a nightmare. How far would you go? Especially to get Emma or Henry out of something like that?”

“I’d do whatever I had to.” Snow White is pale. As well she should be, given how far she went to stop Cora.

“So would I.” David nods, and even Regina unbends enough to agree.

“Then you don’t get to judge my dad for doing what he had to.” He grips his father’s hand hard. “And besides...Belle’s right. You saw that fight.” He gestures to the street. “You wanna know the price of the magic? He’s gonna live with that, every day. Every hour. That fight, tearing him apart. Inside, where none of you can see it.” He looks back at his father and sees the relief, the gratitude shining in his eyes.

His eyes sting. He knows Rumplestiltskin thought he’d still be mad, still disdain him for being the Dark One. Thought he’d turn his back. And it’s not unfair. He’s done that so many times before. Not now though.

The Charmings, Hook and Regina look like they’d like to say more, but Belle gets up and plants herself in their path, protective energy rolling off her tiny frame. “I think Rumple needs to rest now. I’m sure he’s very tired. If you have more questions, they can be addressed later.” There’s steel in her voice, and he grins, seeing how this petite woman could have captured his father’s interest, and his heart.

With reluctant nods, they turn to leave. All except Henry, who darts forward and gives Rumplestiltskin a hug. “Thank you, Grandpa.”

“You’re very welcome.” Rumplestiltskin lifts a lean hand and smooths Henry’s hair. “Forgive me? For what I might have done?”

“Of course. You didn’t do it. And that’s what matters.” Henry smiles. “I’ll be back later.” he gives his grandfather another quick hug before turning and darting over to where his two mothers wait impatiently.

Finally, they are left in peace. Rumplestiltskin sags back into the pillows. He looks worn out, and no surprise. But he blinks open his eyes, stubborn and determined. “I’m sorry Bae.”

“For what?” He thinks he knows. But he’ll let his father say it, so they can have it in the open. It won’t be the easiest promise to keep, but he wants an end to all the things they’ve never said, the half-truths and the lies and the misunderstandings.

“I couldn’t...I couldn’t be rid of the Dark One’s Curse. I know you wanted me to but I...I had to stop the Dark Curse, and I needed the Magic son. And I’m sorry. I know I’ve disappointed you.” He looks to Belle. “Both of you.”

“Nah. I’m not disappointed.” He might have been, but that was before. Before he saw his father die for him. Before he saw with his own eyes the struggle his father endures. “I mean, would I have liked you to be free of it? Yeah. Sure. But...if it’s a choice between the curse or your death...I’d rather have you, cursed and all. Besides...” he bends his head, touching it to Rumplestiltskin’s like he did once before. “I get it now. What you’ve done for me. What it’s like. I understand a bit better now.”

He can see the relief, but also the disbelief in Rumplestiltskin’s eyes. He wishes he could be surprised that his pop doesn’t believe him yet, but then...he’s done enough psychology reading to understand that Pan, on top of all his dad’s other issues, is going to have an impact. Not to mention the whole ‘dying – not dying’ thing.

He flings an arm out, wraps his father in an embrace. Was his father always so thin, so fragile?

He sighs. “Look, Pop...I wanna make a new deal, okay?”

“Bae.”

“Promise to live. Be the best man you can be, curse and all. Me and Belle will help you with that. Okay? That’s all I want. Just promise me you’ll try.”

“I...I’m afraid I’ll fail you again.”

“Nah. Won’t let that happen. Besides...you fought the Darkness 300 years for me Pop. I know...” He grips his father hard. “...I know you got this. So...all you gotta do is believe in me, and I’ll believe in you. Okay?”

“Okay.” The word is cracked and uncertain, but it’s as good as he’ll get for now, and that’s fine. His father’s spent a lifetime and more fighting a losing battle, clawing at the dark for the slivers of light that keep him human. This is a start, and it’s good. They’ll take small steps together.

He sees the utter exhaustion in his father’s eyes and lowers Rumplestiltskin back to the mattress, pulling a blanket up around his thin shoulders. “You rest Pop. We’ll talk more later. Promise. I won’t go anywhere.”

Rumplestiltskin nods and his eyes close. He’s asleep before five breaths have passed. Good. He needs it.

He and Belle share a look as they settle into seats beside the sleeping man. He’s willing to bet they’re both thinking the same thing.

It’s not going to be easy. The townsfolk won’t trust his father overnight. And there’s still the Dark One, trapped inside his father’s skull, to contend with. All the disdain and sneers and distrust they’ll meet outside the doors of the shop will make it harder to keep the darkness at bay.

And they’ll have to deal with Regina, and Hook. Probably the ‘hero’ contingent too. Emma and her parents. They’ll want answers, and probably Rumplestiltskin’s help with whatever comes next. They’ll ask, even as they sneer at his back and act like he’s a monster.

But he and Belle, they’ll be there for his father. They’ll hold him through the Darkness. They’ll face down the town and the whispers and the sneers. They’ll show people how he’s not a monster, just a man with a hard road and a difficult fate. A man who paid, and is paying, a terrible price for love.

And Henry will be there. He saw that in his son’s eyes. Henry will stand with them. And maybe, in that book of his, they’ll find more proof. Stories they can share, to make people see the kind of man his father really is. Maybe not a hero, but not a beast or a monster either.

300 years, his father has housed Light and Darkness, waging a war between good and evil alone in his own mind. And he can’t change that. It’s still his father’s battle to fight. But he can, and will, do one thing.

He’ll make sure his father isn’t alone any more.

**Author's Note:**

> I hated the way the actual episode ended. And then what happened after. This story popped up as a side note to another story I was writing, and then evolved into this.


End file.
